I'm trying to remember to write more, so this little experiment is the result. I got some prompts from Twitter and Facebook. This one is from @roeberg
They walked away from the spot silently – side by side – looking furtively forward, as if each was walking alone.
It was about time they forgot each other anyway. They needed to for the better of everything.
It was funny how it started. A bet, a drink, then another, then another. When they woke up in the morning, each thought, "Did I really agree to that?"
And they did, they were serious, each on a different level. John was worried. He was worried that no one would remember him after this life. It was o the peril of a gay man who didn't wan't to commit to anything at all. The last of his line, his father had said, and he decided to waste it on men. As if it was his fault that his family was dying out. He was unapologetic to this father. He shoved it off, like he shoved things around on his plate, but in his mind, he couldn't.
He was the last. His life, as wonderful and glamorous as it had been, would wither and die some day and no one would remember him. No one worth while.
Lily, on the other hand had no such excuse. When she was in her 20s, it was about getting ahead. She was the youngest executive. She was awarded this. She was given that. She traveled with her friends. After a while. she forgot what it was like to be touched by a man. After a while, she pretended she didn't need the touch of a man. And now, here she was, nearing the end of her possible child bearing years and no one wanted her. Now she was left to the leftover men, the divorced, the weird, the playboys. None of which she wanted Men were intimidated by a bank executive, or turned on by one. The wanted to fuck her, touch her, but never be with her. Never marry her.
So that was it. Two friends, drunk, decided to make a baby.
It had gone along so well for a bit. They would get drunk every Sunday, and then they would fumble into teh sheets. John would feel awkward, he didn't know waht to do with Lily. She was patient, and for fleeting moments, she thought that it wasn't about the baby. It was about…something else. Something they both needed.
"John," she'd say, pushing him off of her. "John," she'd slur, "You've got to think of this differently. I mean, it is like a job, we've got to get something done, but at the least, let's pretend it's not. Let's pretend we're anyone who we're not. Fuck it, let's pretend we love each other. Do you find anything about me even remotely sexy?"
He looked at her blankly. Then sighed.
"This is so weird."
"OK, so I've always loved your neck. It's a regal one. You seem to stretch out of yourself, into something….oh shit, I'm drunk. Look, I like it. It's pretty."
OK. She could work with that. She moved his hands to her neck, letting his hands touch her, pushing them to grip.
"Here. Feel me. Let go of who you are for a minute. We're two beings, on some other plane and we're happy to be here."
He moved his fingers along her clavicle, the softness of it was something familiar, yet so different than a mans.
That was the night. Thank God it had only take a couple o months because they were about to go to a doctor and get a turkey baster, which seemed….inhuman to both of them. Clinical.
As they walked away from the spot, she remembered the best part of labor. When it was over and she was sweaty and gross and angry, but then, then she was there. She was beautiful. And so, so, so small.
Lily had stared at her fingers. Amy had tiny, tiny fingers. Untouched by the world, left in a box, with only a white blanket to replace the touch of her mother.
John watched her eyes. Sparkling with wonder.
It had lasted the better part of two weeks, in which the two of them had said almost nothing to each other. Friends before, now they only reminded each other of their own failure.
Lily tried not to cry. She looked back, for one moment. The stone shined in the sunlight, warming whatever was left of their hopes and dreams, buried deep beneath.